Epiphany/Book One/Chapter 4
The Kids Aren't Alright is the fourth chapter of Epiphany: Book One. The full chapter was released on October 27, 2015. Synopsis Gwen helps Declan settle into his new home, while dealing with repercussions of her secret. Meanwhile, Gray fears what will become of his friend Dominic in the wake of recent declarations and comes up with a plan of his own. Appearances *Declan Radke *Gwen Temple *Bryce Cunningham *Dylan Bolio *Anthony Bolio *Gray Bolio *Enid Bolio *Liz Burke *Robin Haggerty *Winnie Knapchuck *Jovelyn Lumana The Kids Aren't Alright ''“The function of freedom is to free someone else.” '' ― Toni Morrison Declan’s homecoming into the streets of Paducah – or should he say, New Venice – was something he anticipated the entire walk there. Although there was an eerie feeling of not knowing what to expect that he did not entirely appreciate. The sick feeling in his stomach of untrustworthiness irked him; perhaps Gwen wasn’t who she said she was. Maybe she was a cannibalistic maniac leading him into a trap to feed her starving family. There was no plan for a greater future after all, just plan for a delicious meal that he would end up being… Declan’s wild imagination always kept him on his toes. So of course, he kept grilling her with questions the entire walk to Paducah. And she did a pretty good job of remaining consistent, which seemed to be a good sign. She definitely didn’t change her story on how she got her bite, or the symptoms she felt from it, and she kept her story straight when it came to New Venice’s construction and the idea of it being a flooded city. “Infected can’t swim,” she said. Or maybe she just rehearsed this so many times before in her head and to all of her previous victims, so it just seemed legit… …At this point was where Declan decided it would probably be best to let go of his worries and take on a come what may attitude. He was happy he did, because his arrival into the up and coming New Venice was quite spectacular. Construction had already begun on the high-rise living. Though the streets were not yet flooded, it seemed as if some of the people in the city had already made the move to the skies. It was all still under construction, and Gwen explained that these folks were volunteers to test out the stability of the structures. Declan was amazed at how well-organized this all was. “You should meet our council,” Gwen said with a smile. “They’ll appreciate a fresh face. It’ll prove I wasn’t wasting my time out there after all.” Or perhaps it didn’t. “Wow, one more pair of hands,” an older gentleman said these as his first words in Declan’s presence. “That was really worth leaving for over a week and setting us behind, huh?” Bryce Cunningham was a man of sixty, but still gruff, intimidating and physically imposing. He worked out daily, as part of a strict regimen he put himself under when he was in his thirties and started gaining weight. At one point, Bryce was photographed at over three hundred pounds. Now, he was slimmed down and at a healthy weight with muscle on his arms. He was an incredibly proud, and opinionated, man. Bryce was Paducah’s mayor when that title still meant something. He found himself impressed and awestruck by Gwen’s vision of turning Paducah into New Venice when she approached him with it. He allowed her brainchild to come to fruition, but even though he handed her the reigns as the city’s leader, he still was hurting from the transition as the city’s face to just another member of a council appointed for the purpose of checks and balances. “I’m sorry,” he said, sincerity in his voice and his smile, holding out a hand for Declan to shake. “I didn’t mean for that to be my first impression… Bryce Cunningham.” “Declan Radke. No worries, it’s nice to meet you, Bryce. I’ll make sure that I prove Gwen’s trip was worth something.” Was that the right thing to say? Declan thought to himself. I just blew this whole thing, didn’t I? I’ll be on the next walk of shame back to White Falls… White Lake… Lake Front… Kentucky, or wherever the hell I was hanging out at. Bryce actually laughed, clapping Declan assuredly on the back. “I’m sure you will,” he beamed. “You’re lucky I like this guy, Gwen. It sure did sting not having you around, but this guy gives me good vibes. I think he’ll be a hard worker.” Bryce then turned to Gwen, asking with an honest curiosity in his tone, “How’d it look on your way in? I actually haven’t looked all day. You almost forget that there’s construction going on out there, you know? It’s become almost like an invisible hand, pulling strings and waving about the city.” “It looked like we’re making decent progress for how short-handed we are,” Gwen said. “We’ve got some very determined people.” “People who treat you like royalty,” Bryce said. “Still no more symptoms?” “No,” Gwen said, growing uncomfortable. Declan could tell just from her face. He always was a people-watcher and just observing this conversation got his mind racing; She didn’t like the attention, he could tell. And Bryce mentioned people treating her as if she were a queen, because of her body’s apparent immunity to The Plague. There were so many scenarios racing in Declan’s mind at this moment. There was an eager temptation to ask, Do you have a throne? But Declan was able to bite his tongue and contain himself – for now. He figured it’d be a question better-suited for one on one conversation with Gwen. It probably wouldn’t leave a good early impression on this hard-pressed council. “There has been some concern,” an older woman at the table spoke. Her name was Ruby. “That your… condition, or whatever it may be… is going to be a distraction. We want to make sure you’re not too…” “Not too what?” Gwen asked, her tone heavy. The insinuation here was extremely heavy-handed, so much so that she didn’t even feel the need to let Ruby finish without acknowledging its obviousness. Ruby scoffed, allowing herself to finish, “…Not too full of yourself. It’s a legitimate concern, considering all of the attention. Oh, and it’s rightfully so that you’re so loved by these people. These plans were yours in the first place, but we as a council need to remain a powerful public figurehead too. We exist, and we make decisions just as much as you do now. They should appreciate the checks-and-balance system we provide to your leadership…” “…Make yourself more known,” Gwen said. “In fact, I encourage that, Ruby. Contribute more hands-on work to the city’s development, and people will acknowledge and support you. This goes for all of you. I’m not respected or admired just because I survived a bite. I’m no Messiah. I’m respected because I put hard work into planning this, and I’m also putting hard work into making it a reality. I go out there and I help with construction, I hold conversation with people. This can’t just be an “I” effort, what about “we”? You worry about me being full of myself? That’s fine, it’s a valid concern and I understand where it’s coming from. But when I’m sitting at a table full of capable people who debate decisions for this city’s well-being, and yet don’t go out there and make a physical difference, I’m seeing a team who can do so much more. The world as we know it fell apart two months ago, and we’ve accepted that fact. Maybe politics as we knew it should be gone and buried, too.” The room fell under silence. Bryce was visibly impressed; he nodded his head. This was an unexpected agreement between two people who often butted heads – this seemed to shock the rest of the room more than Gwen’s declaration. “You’re right,” Bryce said. “You’ve earned your respect. This is something the rest of us need to work on together. The shadow should be of us, reflected to the growing communities around us, not of you, towering over your council. This is a team, and I’m happy you referred to it as such.” It wasn’t very often that Bryce had Gwen’s back in these meetings, for the two often butt heads, but he definitely respected her. It was her idea for Bryce to continue leading, but upon further discussion, they both agreed on appointing a council and shifting Gwen to be this city’s face because New Venice was her idea. The prospect of building high and flooding the street level was a huge undertaking, but it made sense for the sake of protection. If there is no way for the infected to get to them, they will remain free of infection in their city limits. It required a lot of hard effort and work, and he knew that Gwen’s determination would help them get the job done. He knew from her respectful nod that she was thankful for his presence in this meeting. Gwen climbed her way up the ladder leading to the high-rise scaffoldings above, leading the way for Declan. They were relatively wide platforms, made of heavy steel beams that were big enough to allow movement for quite a few people. The beams underneath supported them and latched to the sides of the buildings that already stood. New entrances were formed on the sides of the buildings, door frames were carved out so that those who lived up here could make their way inside. On the opposite side of the city, cranes were still putting beams in place for future pathways. “How long do these guys work for?” Declan asked. “We don’t have time clocks anymore, or restrictions,” Gwen explained. “So they work for as long as they want. They know what the incentive is – more safety, less death. So if they want to work all day, we let them. If they want to rest the next day, we let them. They move at their own pace. And most of these men have families, you see. So they work. We’ve been under construction for only about a month, and so much progress has already been made.” “And what are you going to do about the lower levels once this place is flooded?” “Eventually, once the construction up here is finished, everyone will be migrated up. Then we’ll block off the bottom levels completely, and build up walls to block them out, as if they never even existed.” There was a lot of information for Declan to take in here… But he was impressed with how well thought-out and managed this seemed. “This is incredible,” Declan said, taking in the view he had from up here. He was about five stories up, and was able to get a magnificent view of the surrounding city. He could see the dam from here. “And over there,” Gwen said, pointing to the north, where a metal deck was being constructed. “That’ll be one of many docks. So that way people can make passage in and out of the city, via boats. This isn’t going to be a prison.” “I never thought it would be.” “You’d be surprised at the stuff people have come up with.” She brought him to the middle of the platforms, and opened up the door. “Apartment 423,” she said. She pulled keys from her pocket and smiled. “Thank you,” Declan said, taking the keys from her hands. “I realized something,” Gwen began. “The whole way here, you were asking me so many questions and I was so… caught up in the whirlwind of being so blown away by own accomplishments, that I never really got to know you…” “Happens to the best of us, I’m sure.” “What did you do, professionally?” “Believe it or not, I was an artist. I made children’s books, mostly adaptations of old fairy tales.” “I’m choosing not to believe that one.” “No, seriously, I took a collection of classic fairytales and did re-tellings of them. I rewrote them myself, and did the illustrations too. It’s a pretty famous book, no Caldecott winner or anything, but I made bank.” “No way. Why such an interest in fairytales though?” “Parents would always criticize the stories that the Brothers Grimm told, you know? It’s like – they don’t think their kids watched anything bad on TV or did anything behind their backs. So they thought that going to school is where their kids would be tainted and they wouldn’t be alright anymore, which is this really abstract and kind of non-existent way of thinking. In controlling what they learn in school and blaming their kids’ imagination getting the best of them on the literature in their curriculum, they failed in finding the real problem: their own ignorance of what kids really do. Because your kids aren’t alright, but it isn’t because of what they’re reading in school. So I took these stories and made them quote-unquote “alright” for the parents. They’re getting the same morals, but in a more acceptable medium and environment. So I re-told the stories from the perspective of kids in a school. You take that chaotic setting, and you can create so many dramatic stories from it that kids can relate too. Characters in a fairy tale aren’t necessarily complex, either: they’re well-defined and they don’t navigate out of that familiarity. If you’re good, you’re good, and if you’re bad, you’re bad. Replace the big bad wolf with the big bully in school who wants to steal poor Red Riding Hood’s lunch and you’ve got creative gold that’ll strike kids as something relatable, but also give parents the peace of mind in knowing that at the story’s end, the bully won’t end up dead. Just nicer.” “That’s actually really cool… I think storytelling is so important. I love to hear this, because it’s so vital to retain some sense of culture and creativity. You read novels and see movies all the time of dystopian depictions where it’s just this vast nothingness. There’s no focus on culture, just violence. If that’s where we’re headed as a society, to this sameness of no culture, then what is going to sustain our future? How will our kids remain “alright” without an appreciation for the past and in creating their own memories, and telling their own stories? It’s an interesting thought.” “I feel like we could have these sort of discussions for hours. We’ll have to grab coffee together sometime.” Gwen dreaded the fact that this deep, but oh-so casual small talk, was dwindling down this path. She had been there a thousand times before; she thought better of Declan. She sighed, though, because she was actually tempted. He was pretty interesting to talk to. She wasn’t happy with herself for thinking this. She always fell for the wrong guys and she didn’t want it to go down that path again. But she realized that maybe coffee just meant for conversation with a friend. It didn’t have to lead down that path again. Gwen always was an overthinker. She could tell that Declan was, too, and she could envision entertaining conversations over coffee in the wee hours of the morning with him. “Never been much of a coffee drinker,” she answered finally. “I can never get it right. Without cream and sugar it’s far too bitter, but whenever I add it, I overdo it and it ends up sickeningly sweet.” Their conversation was interrupted with a sudden scream. Gwen and Declan spun around and looked instantly at a man who hung upside-down from one of the scaffoldings two floors higher, his ankle caught in one of the ropes. Gwen ran for him. She recognized this guy; Jarod Knapchuck. Jarod was in his early fifties – a guy who protected the family he had left: two teenagers, the eldest a girl who spent a lot of her free-time tanning, and a mischievous boy. He was stern and aggressive, she took note of the critical way he talked to his son a few times, but he was a loyal worker who didn’t stir any trouble so Gwen tried not to read too much into his family life. As unfortunate as circumstances could have been at home, it was none of her business and wasn’t having an effect on his work, so she let it be. Before Gwen could even get in arm’s reach of him, the rope lost grip on Jarod’s ankle and he fell. His head hit the platform hard, Gwen could hear the echoing thud clearly. She yelled, “Damn it!” She approached, kneeling beside him. She rolled his body over, and saw blood coming from the top of his forehead. “Is he okay?” Gwen heard Declan ask from behind her. “It was a nasty fall, but he’ll be okay,” she said, remaining calm. She placed her lips on Jarod’s and pressed on his chest, pumping. She hadn’t used CPR in a long time, but she remembered the basics. Gwen pulled away and saw Jarod come to; his head stirred and he grumbled. “Jarod. Hey, Jarod? I’ve got people coming and getting us help,” Gwen said. “We’re going to get you out of here and have the doctors look at you, alright?” Then she turned to Declan, “Give me a hand.” He went behind Jarod, lifting him by his shoulders while Gwen took his feet. They carried him together. People watched. One man offered his assistance, but Gwen insisted that she and Declan were handling things just fine. As they walked past the people who stood and watched from their windows, and even those who stood out on the platform and asked questions, Gwen assured everyone to remain calm and return to what they were doing. Jarod started to kick. His leg twitched, it gave Gwen a hard time but she kept it under control… only for a moment, though, as his entire being began to convulse. Declan lost grip of Jarod’s shoulders and he dropped toward the floor. Declan managed to catch him under-handed, grabbing him by the back and using his weight to support him. Declan readjusted himself but Jarod continued to twitch. “We need to get him down to the hospital quickly,” Gwen said, worriedly. “I’m thinking he suffered massive brain damage from that fall—“ Jarod started to cough now. The convulsing and the coughing were cohabitating his being, and Declan set him down. He backed away, recognizing this. “He’s turning.” “What? No, that’s impossible. Only someone who got bit by an infected shows symptoms. He was nowhere near infected all day—“ “What about you?” “What about me? Why are we even having this conversation Declan? We need to get him downstairs, to the hospital, now…” Gwen didn’t want to admit but she saw it. Jarod’s body was reacting just like someone who would be infected. These were the same symptoms Gwen suffered before her body fought it off. “You were bit, which means you still have the virus in you, right? So when you touched his lips…” “You’re saying I can pass it to other people?” “It’s a possibility. I think. I’m not sure how these things work, but it can’t be a coincidence. Can it?” Declan’s tone wasn’t very assuring or confident, but Gwen was thinking that he had a really good point. It made sense. She was a carrier. Maybe Jarod could be as lucky as she was. She wasn’t going to just sit here and watch him die. “I’m getting him downstairs.” She grabbed him by the shoulders and started to drag him. Declan, annoyed and scared, but courteous as all get out, wrestled with his doubts on how safe this was and sucked it up. He grabbed Jarod by the legs and helped Gwen continue carrying him. Jarod suddenly vomited all over himself. It was bloody. Declan was nearly ready to get sick. “That’s… disgusting. You ever do that? You ever get that far, Gwen?” Gwen paused. She stopped as she approached the stairs. She set Jarod down and Declan followed suit. She stared into Jarod’s eyes. She saw the change; the hue growing yellow. It was too late. He was too far gone, and there was nothing she could do. She was trying to accept the fact that she did this, that her body transmitted it to his just by performing CPR. Jarod started to groan. This snapped Gwen back to reality. “No,” she answered. “No, I didn’t.” As Jarod pushed himself up with his hands, Gwen reacted quickly. She stretched her leg out with a powerful kick, hitting him square in the chest with her heel. Jarod fell backward, arms spread out, but unable to scream. He just fell, silently, for stories until he crashed to the cement below. His body was still, a corpse. ---- Dylan Bolio’s eyes fluttered quickly as he heard his younger brother rummaging through the room they slept in. He was in the middle of an engaging dream, too: There was snow everywhere, and the faint imagery of his father returning home on an airplane. At least he thought it was his father. He just remembered the embrace. He felt so cold, like he was actually in the snow he dreamt of, until they hugged. It was the strangest thing. The sudden clatter around him took him out of this peaceful scenario and now he was looking at Gray standing in the darkness, his face made out only by one of the window’s shutters allowing visibility from the natural light of the moonlight and stars outside. He refrained from interrupting Gray’s movements. Instead, he only watched in his groggy state. There was no telling if he was too tired to interfere, or just wanted to watch and observe: perhaps a mix of both. Gray crept past their softly-snoring mother on his tip-toes and reached into one of the end table’s drawers, and produced something small and mobile from inside. It was difficult for Dylan to make out in his exhausted state, but as soon as Gray clicked a button on the side of the object and light escaped one end of it, Dylan realized it was a flashlight. Where are you going? Dylan thought to himself. It was strange to see Gray so determined and action-oriented. This was a kid who most were convinced was afraid of his own shadow. He never was the bravest nor did he like to break rules. Sneaking out in the dead of night to do something stupid was more up Dylan’s alley. So now this whole situation whetted his curiosity. Gray slipped out the door, making sure he was quiet in shutting it by turning the door-knob and not releasing it until the door was already in place to make sure the click was barely audible. Again, something more up Dylan’s alley. Dylan instantly leapt from his place on the floor and followed suit, this whole situation waking him with a sudden burst of adrenaline. He crept after Gray in the hallway, following him down to the makeshift infirmary. Dylan was truly enjoying this; not only for the thrill of being able to sneak around in the dead of night, way after the designated curfew, but for the sense of figuring out what could potentially be a dirty little secret. Slipping into the infirmary before Gray let the door slam behind him was not an easy task, but Dylan managed. He skirted away into the darkness, pressing up against the back wall, in between two shelves. Gray was moving towards a bed, the bed where his friend Dominic lay. Dominic and his family were fairly new to the church, having joined the small community a few mere months ago. Gray approached the new kid with a heart to help him settle in, and the two actually started to click and become closer friends. Dominic was the only person in the church to fall ill after the main outbreak occurred and everyone moved into the church, so it was understandable that there was a lot of panic over what to do about it. Now, with the knowledge of where this plague actually came from and what it is fully capable of doing being all over the church, the relevance of just how big of a deal Dominic’s sickness was didn’t really hit Dylan until now. Even as Dylan tried to sleep through the night, all he could think about, selfishly, was his own life and whether or not his father could return. He didn’t even stop to ponder the implications of what these revelations would have on the people around him. “C’mon, get up,” he heard Gray’s voice say. “Dom, we need to get out of here. It’s time.” “I’m just so tired,” coughed Dominic. “Shh, keep it down,” urged Gray, his voice hoarse and tone warning. “I’m going to get you out of here.” “What?” Dominic’s voice was groggy, disoriented. A mixture of being woken this late, and the “This sickness… there’s still so much ambiguity,” Dylan heard Gray’s voice whisper. “But everyone is making assumptions and I’m afraid of what they’re going to do to you, man. I’ve got a plan; I can keep you safe!” Dylan couldn’t help but roll his eyes to himself… It was a combination of recognizing that only Gray would use a word like “ambiguity” in a sentence and the absurdity of his idea. Dylan had to step out of the shadows, now. He had to intervene now that he knew what was really up. “For someone with an IQ that’s double mine, you really can be retarded sometimes, you know that?” Dylan snapped. Gray turned around quickly, startled, jumping about a mile into the air. “What the heck, man?!” Gray seethed, it was obvious that he tried very hard not to curse here. “You followed me?” “You learned all those smooth, sneaky moves from me,” Dylan said with a smirk. “Still got a ways to go before you can best the master.” “What do you think you’re going to do?” Dominic asked, worry in his voice. “I can barely get up.” “The kid can barely get up, Gray,” Dylan said. “I was going to get him out of here and bring him food every day,” Gray replied. “That still doesn’t address the issue that he can’t even stand on his feet! And do you think you sneaking around every day isn’t going to draw attention? C’mon, Gray, use common sense.” Gray was known for using his heart more than his brains sometimes, which seemed to conflict with his intelligence. But he was just so empathetic and always trying to help the people around him. Dylan was thankful that he was nothing like that; it seemed to always get Gray into messy situations where he put other people before himself. Gray’s eyes emitted desperation. “I just don’t want anything bad to happen to him,” Gray said, his voice cracking softly. “And I’m sure he doesn’t want anything bad to happen to you, either,” Dylan said. They both looked at Dominic. The pale boy had already drifted back to his slumber. Dylan grabbed Gray by the arm, pulling him out of his empathetic trance. He shook his head. “You don’t need to see him like this,” Dylan said hoarsely. “Let him sleep.” Gray, defeated, allowed Dylan to pull him by the arm out of the room. Dylan carefully shut the door behind them. Then, as the boys turned forward, they saw two figures emerge from the shadows with flashlights. Gray nearly screamed, and Dylan gasped, startled, before one of them said calmly: “Relax,” it was the soothing but booming voice of Pastor Robin. “It’s just us.” As the flashlights drew nearly, their lights reflected on the faces of Pastor Robin and Pastor Liz. “What are you two doing out here?” Liz asked. Never the best liar, Gray began to fidget. Dylan interjected, thinking quickly and on his toes with an air of smooth confidence in his voice, “We wanted to pray over Dominic. He’s not doing too well.” “We were just going to do the same,” Liz said. “It’s good that you boys are doing that for him, but it’s way past curfew. Get back to sleep.” As the boys walked back to their room and the pastors inside Dominic’s, Gray looked up at Dylan seriously. “You don’t just lie, you decide to lie about praying?” “You’re welcome, baby brother.” ---- Festively dressed with a brightly colored turquoise bra, very high heels and a playfully short dress, Winnie Knapchuck felt like the life of the party at Chatter’s Discotheque in New Venice. The short, pretty blonde was a party girl – she would get into awkward situations on a regular basis, grinding on the nearest boy with no knowledge of who he was or how he operated, then having to deal with the misadventures that followed throughout the night. Everyone, she discovered, enjoyed these tales of scrappy escapades, and all of this twirling on the dance floor and drinking and retelling helped give her something to define her as someone who was sassy, carefree, and didn’t mind the mishaps. In fact, she laughed them off. Surely, hasn’t she already persuaded us to think these things? In actual fact, though, Winnie wasn’t quite sure if she was really any of those things – She was some of the time. It wasn’t a complete ruse, no, because she remembered spending most Sunday nights her previous semester at a shoddy warehouse-based dance club called by its patrons, “Body and Soul”. Experienced, (they called themselves professional) club kids worked out routines. It was all a huge new thing for Winnie. A routine? Why on earth would anyone need a clubbing routine? Winnie learned how important these routines really were. Having go-to moves and restraining herself from bedding every guy she danced with were important in preserving her own self-worth, as well as for her own personal health. She remembered one of the New York City Ballet dancers that practiced their disco moves. The one, Angelo, wore a skintight T-shirt that said, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’m gay’. She remembered laughing in the moonlight with him, telling him how very obvious it was and that the shirt was unnecessary. She applauded his bravery in her drunken stupor, leaning on his shoulder and laughing in his ear. That seemed to be her go-to flirtatious move while under the influence, she didn’t even care at that moment that Angelo was obviously not interested in her and that the very topic at hand was of how they were both gawking at the same attractive guy. She remembered that she always had something to wear, not all of it particularly good. But Winnie was always proud when the other hammered girls at the club complimented her for her clothes, because she secretly frequented the local flea market for those things. A thick-accented stallholder named Vera, who hailed from some European country like Austria or Russia or something of the like, called Winnie her favorite customer; she used to save her things, anything with sequins, any tarty shoes, anything with animal print. Initially, Winnie struggled because her flowing blonde hair combined with her baby-faced look made her seem so young to the men she met at the club. But she was eighteen and a college freshman! That was a big deal for her, and she emphasized it so, because surely these things were qualifications of being an adult. “The key to these things,” Vera used to say with that thick accent Winnie so missed. “Is that, to be really stylish, you need to create a fantastic silhouette with your body.” Winnie took Vera’s words to heart and was able to fashion together a look, a feel, and a vibe in which she carried herself like a woman and not like a girl anymore. She tried to bring the energy she absorbed from New York to New Venice, but this just didn’t have the same feeling or flair. Everything was much more dreary now, even with her swaying along to the same trashy routine to the same trashy music playing. Winnie returned home for the first weekend since she started the Winter semester three months prior at the City University of New York on her father’s request, and of course, that had to be the weekend the whole world stopped and stood still and she was forced to stay put. To put her at better ease, she started compiling a list of things she liked in Paducah better than New York: The bitter April cold in New York was the one thing she didn’t miss, Paducah – New Venice – was much milder. That was the only thing she could think of. The party atmosphere was certainly not as vibrant. The single man she made out with at Chatter’s Discotheque was only called Macintosh. He fondled her on the neck, and then whispered in her ear that he could prove kissing to be something electric and fun, even with no chemistry between the pair. Macintosh, Mac, as he liked to call himself, often talked of sex as if it was scientific. It wasn’t, to Winnie. Science was boring and she felt it was too over-her-head. She needed something more tangible, superficial, fun… something with fewer definitions. The only cool person she met here was another young-faced girl like herself, a Filipino. Her name was Jovelyn. She was free-spirited and fun but a lot more reserved than Winnie was. Jovelyn knew her boundaries, and often walked Winnie home from the parties they attended together at least twice a week since she arrived in town. That was the routine again tonight, as Jovelyn kindly delivered Winnie to her doorstep – but it wasn’t Winnie’s brother or father collecting her at the door this time, it was another man. He was tall, dark, and intimidating, wearing a familiar blue uniform. He stood outside the door to the apartment the Knapchuck family stayed in, arms folded in front of his body patiently. “Officer?” Jovelyn said, swallowing. Both girls were underage. But she realized that the man could not have cared any less about the alcohol on their breaths. “Something happen?” “Is one of you Winona Grace Knapchuck?” “That’d be me,” Winnie slurred. The officer’s eyes fell on her, he had a softer gaze than either girl imagined from him. “I’m sorry, but your father died in an accident this afternoon,” the officer said. “I haven’t been able to contact your brother or yourself all day, so I got permission to wait here for either one of you to show up. We’re going to need to bring you down to the station. Alone. It’s… complicated.” Trivia *The title, "The Kids Aren't Alright", carries various meanings throughout the chapter. **For one, the most obvious is Declan's talk about how parents want to shield their children from violent fairy tales. **Another relates to the Bolio boys sneaking around at night to tend to the ill, and the very-not-alright, Dominic. **The final relation is that Jarod Knapchuck's children are nowhere to be found all day: Winnie has been partying, PJ is missing. Winnie returns home completely wasted, not alright, to discover that her father is dead. Category:Epiphany Category:Issues Category:Epiphany Issues